


Travestito

by foxontherun



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Corsetry, Crossdressing Kink, Hannibal in a corset, Light BDSM, M/M, PWP, Sub Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4139205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxontherun/pseuds/foxontherun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will discuss disguises. PWP Hannibal-in-a-corset-smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travestito

Hannibal takes Will’s coat as they returned to his lush apartment after the performance. Will hasn’t yet gotten used to thinking of it as their apartment. The space still has the lingering scent of Bedelia’s perfume, as if her ghost wanders the empty rooms. He can almost see her reflection glinting off the burnished gold accents, flickering through the baroque mirrors, a morbid reminder of just how deep he is, now, into Hannibal’s world. Useless, he thinks. As if a corpse or two at this point is going to distract him from tumbling into the dark. The rabbit hole is no longer a danger - it is his home now.

The performance had been beautiful - Twelfth Night outdoors at the Arena di Verona, the glow of incandescent light against the stark marble. The actors buried deep within their layers of gossamer, of wool, of disguises and verse. Hannibal passes Will a glass of wine, bright as peridot under the pale light of the lounge. They relax in silence for a moment, Will in his customary seat catty-corner to Hannibal, who has sunk in wine-warmed comfort amongst the cushions.

“Did you enjoy the play?” He asks at length, turning hooded eyes on Will.

“It was beautiful,” Will admits, then sits for a moment, turning it over in his mind. “It’s an interesting concept, the theater. Performance in general.”

“Mankind has been performing for one another since the beginning,” Hannibal says, loosening his tie. “Since we learned we were born to the horrors of this world. It is a kind deception,” he continues. “One meant to be shared.”

“Performance as escape,” Will muses. Once again, they are speaking in subtext, skirting around the issue that neither of them is willing to address, at this moment. “A disguise can be good armor.”

“Performance is more than disguise,” Hannibal says, taking a sip of his wine. They have both had several glasses of champagne, and although far from drunk, Hannibal is at his most expansive like this - surrounded by carefully crafted beauty, with Shakespeare’s words a companionable memory to be treasured. He thinks back to the play, to the way Will’s hand rested gently in his own, the warmth of it, their fingers intertwined. He can almost taste the expression of concentration on Will’s face. He luxuriates in it. “It can be armor, or it can be an expression. One can say more using other’s words, others tones, than one can often say with one’s own tongue.”

“You’ve turned performance into a lifestyle.” Will stares pointedly past Hannibal to the room they currently occupy - at the gilt accents of the furniture, the sumptuous brocades of the fabric, the tastefully placed lighting. The room glitters like a geode, and they sit like royalty in the midst of all of it. Hannibal’s carefully chosen world.

“Where does the performance end and the authentic take it’s place?” Hannibal is reading Will’s thoughts again. “Is there nothing I could do that would shock you, Will?”

The question seems to come from left field, but Will can see it’s thread in Hannibal’s mind. Will knows him more fully than anyone has ever done, but the question still lingers. What, of all of this, is truly Hannibal, and what is merely his own brand of disguise. The man he has become, and the man Will knows, and loves, that man is sitting here before him, Will knows this, but how much more does he have to discover?

“I’m sure you could think of something,” Will mutters, not trusting himself to say more. He’s certain of that, at least. 

“A challenge, then,” Hannibal’s eyes crinkle with affection. “I’ll have to make it something we both enjoy.”

 

…

 

A week later, Hannibal requests that Will dress for dinner. The table is set for a party, though it is just the two of them. The setting is ornate and lovely, a verdant bed of moss with tumbling peach-hued hollyhocks, minute speckled pears the size of river stones, and white candles set in mercury glass. Will has to restrain himself from moaning around his first spoonful of chilled asparagus soup topped with a perfect poached quail egg.

“What’s the occasion?” He asks his host, pausing to admire the perfect fall of Hannibal’s suit - the way the fabric skims the lean, strong lines of his body, the subtle sheen of the fabric. Hannibal is breathtakingly beautiful, with the high peaks of his cheekbones, the sultriness of his bowed upper lip, the predatory, feline grace he possesses in all things. Tonight he glows as if lit from within, his skin smooth and taut, his hair falling, tousled, in his face. He looks different, somehow, tonight. Softer. Less untouchably powerful. Will can’t put his finger on what’s causing this impression, but he can almost feel the intent, when Hannibal lowers his eyes in pleasure, his pale eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks. 

“I simply wanted to enjoy the night with you,” he murmurs, “spring has always been a time when my appreciation for the beauty of this world seems almost overpowering. I wish for you to share the experience with me.”

There’s something so gently seductive in the way Hannibal tilts his head to the side, baring the graceful stretch of his neck to Will, that he almost loses his train of thought, before his mind returns to their conversation the previous week. Hannibal’s performing for me, he realizes. He’s trying to surprise me.

The hell of it is, that Will is surprised. That this is the way in which Hannibal has gone about shocking him - instead of an overt display of power or wit, he is seducing him, being gentle, soft. Will feels warmth creep into his cheeks as a slow arousal sparks low in his belly. He’s also surprised by how much he likes it, this new Hannibal. He’s curious how far Hannibal’s willing to go with this display of submission. 

“This is wonderful, thank you.” He smiles over the table at Hannibal, watching color creep into the doctor’s cheeks. He has learned never to underestimate this man - this extraordinary man. The rest of the meal passes and they discuss the new art exhibit at the Uffizi gallery - etchings by Goya, which leads to a comparison of various books on Greek and Roman mythology. Nothing is said about what Hannibal is doing, but Hannibal knows that Will is aware. He knows that Will’s arousal is building, slowly, as he is made to wait, to watch Hannibal as he lifts his fork to his mouth, pressing his tongue gently to his upper lip.

As they have their espresso, Hannibal pauses, looking up through his eyelashes at Will, such a blatant manipulation that Will smiles at it, though he has been half hard for most of the meal at the mere thought of what Hannibal has in store for them.

“I recently made a purchase which I would like your opinion on, Will, if you could be so kind as to follow me?” He rises from his chair and makes his way to the bedroom, and Will follows after a moment, admiring the push of Hannibal’s ass through the seat of his trousers, more slim than the usual cuts Hannibal favors. They stand at the foot of their bed, and Hannibal turns to him, cupping his cheek gently. “I’d like you to undress me,” he says, and his voice is breathy. He’s excited, Will can hear it in his voice, and see it in his posture, in the flush of his cheeks. Will lets out a slow breath, and leans in to press their lips together, catching a hint of a scent far more feminine than the ones Hannibal generally favors. He swallows thickly as the kiss deepens, and he presses their hips together, feeling Hannibal half-hard against him. Hannibal moans. Will pulls back to unknot Hannibal’s tie and pull it off, remembering to fold it, instead of just throwing it on the bed beside them. He runs his hands down Hannibal’s chest, and his breath hitches when he feels something beneath the fabric - something sturdy yet yielding at the same time. His cock jerks. Hannibal is wearing lingerie. His eyes flick up at Hannibal. Hannibal’s eyes are closed and his mouth is wet and open and Will is suddenly, shockingly aroused. He surges forward and catches Hannibal’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging, his fingers clenched in the lapel’s of Hannibal’s jacket. Hannibal makes a small, wounded noise and Will can feel his cock jerk against him as Will tears his jacket off, all thoughts of neatly folded clothing gone from his mind.

“I have to see you,” Will says, his voice low and urgent.

“Go ahead,” Hannibal breathes. “Rip it off. See me.” He sounds as if he’s in pain, and something in Will breaks. He grips Hannibal’s shirt and yanks it down, unmindful of the buttons at his cuffs which go skittering across the floor. Hannibal gasps, and Will can see color flushing down his neck to his chest. His chest, which is hidden from Will by the lacy edges of a gorgeous corset which gleams dimly, silvery fabric and black lace so fine that it looks like feathers, brushing the tips of his erect nipples. Will takes a deep breath, and gently runs his hands down Hannibal’s hips before unzipping his pants and letting them fall. Hannibal steps out of them, bare except for the tight binding of fabric, his erect cock jutting obscenely beneath, wet and slippery at the head. Will watches as a bead of clear fluid gathers and falls to the floor. He’s never imagined Hannibal like this, this proud, beautiful creature before him. The corset alters his posture so that he stands demurely, the strong lines of him softened and molded into taut curves.

“Turn around,” Will orders, and Hannibal obliges, and Will runs a hand down the shapely plushness of his ass. “Bend over,” Will says gruffly, not trusting himself to speak save for this. He sees a shiver run through his lover, before the man does as he is told, resting his face between his arms on the bed. He is exposed to Will. As naked as he’s ever been, even partially clothed as he is. Will lets out a shaky breath, and palms Hannibal’s ass before drawing his arm back and smacking it. He feels Hannibal’s body shudder with the force of it, and Hannibal moans as Will palms himself once through his pants, and then takes them off, undressing himself as he watches red seep into Hannibal’s skin where he left his handprint. He ruts forward, once, and presses his cock into the crevice of Hannibal’s ass. Hannibal pushes back into it with a soft noise. “Stop,” Will smacks him again, harder, this time, and Hannibal stops immediately, dropping his head forward again, his hair in his eyes. Will spanks him until Hannibal has to restrain himself from crying out, muffled noises against the inside of one arm, his ass red and tender, pushed high into the air. Will is gasping from exertion and arousal as he finds a small bottle of lubricant from their bedside drawer, and hands it to Hannibal. “I want to watch you,” he grits out, as he strokes himself, mindful that he’s close to orgasm already, just from this. Hannibal takes a deep breath - his face flushed and sweaty, as he inserts a finger into himself, and then two, closing his eyes and moaning as he stretches himself, as he circles his rim with his own fingers, little hitches in his breath as he hits that sensitive spot within. 

“I’m ready, Will, please,” he moans, after a few minutes, and Will presses a kiss to his lower back as he parts his cheeks, and licks a broad wet swatch up under him until he reaches the rim, which he flicks once with his tongue before coating himself with the lubricant and presses in slowly, feeling that incredible stretch. Hannibal has never let him perform this particular act before, preferring to top, and Will feels lightheaded with the rush of power this gives him, to see Hannibal submit, to watch his body stretch open for him. He entwines his hand in Hannibal’s hair, grips it, and gives a sharp tug, causing Hannibal to thrust back against him, a rush of words in some language that Will has never heard. He tugs again, and Hannibal lets out a cry, as Will jerks his hips and thrusts into him fully, starts fucking him hard - so hard that Hannibal has to put a hand out to brace himself, his body being rocked in time with Will’s cock pounding into him. Will reaches forward and grips Hannibal’s cock, dripping wet, and Hannibal thrusts into his grip and back again, biting his lips and keening. 

“Fuck, Hannibal,” Will moans as he feels the man come apart beneath, him, his body tightening around WIll’s cock and hot cum covering his hands and Hannibal’s chest. Will fucks him through it, the spasming of Hannibal’s body milking the orgasm out of him as he shouts with the intensity of it all, the feeling of heat, of connection, Hannibal’s ass still red and sore from his hands, the corset’s silk sliding on the sweat of chest as he stills, panting.

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, Hannibal cradled in Will’s arms, stroking the fine bones of Will’s hands.

“That was amazing,” Will says softly, his breath ruffling the fine hairs of Hannibal’s neck. “Can we do that again?”

“The power of performance.” Hannibal smiles sleepily up at Will. “I trust I’ve made my point?” There’s a beat. “I like you this way,” he admits. “You so rarely exercise your natural power when we are together. It is…heady.”

“So that’s a yes, then,” Will says, tucking his face into the back of Hannibal’s neck.

“That’s a yes, Will,” Hannibal agrees. “Perhaps we can go shopping together, one day. I would love your input.”


End file.
